Hearts
by black.k.kat
Summary: There are, by all accounts, three types of hearts in the world: iron, glass, and silver. Every person, of the billions that populate the Earth, has one of three kinds of heart. But all the accounts don't actually account for everything. There's a fourth kind of heart out there, for all that it's unspeakably rare.


**Rating:** PG-13

**Word count:** ~ 1,200

**Warnings: **… (It's just so weird I have no warnings oh my god what even _is this_) None?

**Disclaimer: **All recognizable characters are the property of their respective owners. I am in no way associated with the creators, and no copyright infringement is intended.

**A/N: **Um…

* * *

_**Hearts**_

_**(Silver and Gold)**_

There are, by all accounts, three types of hearts in the world. Every person, of the billions that populate the Earth, has one of three kinds of heart. It's fairly incredible to think about, really.

Iron hearts are, perhaps, the most common, their bearers steady and average and strong. Normal, with the ability to become extraordinary, because iron is shields and swords and bullets, is tools for helping and hurting in equal measure, a necessary component of steel. Lots of people have iron hearts, because it's the kind of world that is built on steadiness and strength and occasional extraordinariness.

Slightly less common, but only just, are the glass hearts. They're beautiful, and deceptively strong, but they're still glass. They reflect everything, so sensitive and so breakable, but they're still the loveliest of the three. They feel the most, and are overwhelmed so easily by it, but they're the good people, the ones who are the best friends or doctors or humanitarians, who care and care and care until their beautiful glass hearts simply break.

Silver hearts are the least common of the three, almost as lovely as glass and almost as strong as iron, and infinitely brighter than either. Silver is the pure heart, the good heart, the wise man and the saint and the clever, caring king, leaders and generals and the backbone of the world. The inner strength that keeps nations on the right paths and the people from losing hope, because those with silver hearts are dreamers, inventors, innovators, and touched with brilliance.

The entire world, all the billions of people in it, and they share three types of hearts between them all.

(But all the accounts don't actually account for everything. There's a fourth heart out there, for all that it's unspeakably rare. Almost a myth, in fact. Because sometimes, one person out of billions is born with a heart that is not iron or glass or silver, but _gold_.

Gold is for those with miracles in their hearts.)

* * *

It is a private matter, usually, what kind of heart one has, but doctors have to know.

Owen mostly knows, because he's the only doctor the Torchwood team can really visit on anything resembling a regular basis, and he's actually a damn good doctor, though they don't ever tell him that.

Jack might know, because he can see their files.

Tosh, because she can hack into just about any system with her eyes closed.

Gwen, because she's fairly good at reading people.

Ianto doesn't know, doesn't _want_ to know. Whatever kinds of hearts the others have, it's their own business.

He knows they'll never guess his. Even Owen thinks he has an iron heart.

But he doesn't. Ianto's heart is gold.

* * *

Hearts can tarnish, of course, no matter what they are. Silver can grow black, glass can lose its shine, and iron can rust. And all hearts can crack, break right down the middle or shatter into countless pieces. There are certain things in the world that can destroy a heart outright and leave nothing behind.

The heartless are to be pitied, always.

But all is never lost, because the very finest smiths can craft new ones, just like the originals, and the very best glass-hearted doctors can replace them, although it is painful and strange at first to have a heart with which one was not born.

It is difficult to repair a shattered heart, but it can be done. Love will do it.

Love will mend any shattered heart, if it's true enough.

* * *

Jack wraps his arms around Ianto's waist and lets his head rest on Ianto's bare chest, listening to the steady thumping of his heart beating away beneath layers of skin, muscle, and bone.

"So strong," he whispers, closing his eyes a moment too late. Ianto sees the pain in them, the tears that Jack will never shed.

Suzie, with her glass heart under a façade of iron, is dead for the second time, and this time she won't be coming back.

Ianto reaches down and carefully wraps his arms around Jack's shoulders, tangling his fingers in the captain's hair. Jack smiles without opening his eyes, and presses a soft kiss to Ianto's chest. "My own heart of iron," he says softly, sweetly, and Ianto wants to cry, because his heart is not iron. He cannot be the iron base upon which silver-hearted Jack stands, cannot give him the steadiness that he needs.

But he cannot keep it to himself any longer, either.

"Not iron," he says, and his voice is hoarse with secrets.

Jack shifts his head slightly, without raising it, and looks up at him. There's a painful wariness in his eyes, because he's already faced one person today who lied about their heart. Suzie was glass though she passed herself off as iron, and she broke.

Ianto cannot break, even if he sometimes wants to.

Jack's hand is curved passively around Ianto's shoulder, and he picks it up and gently settles it beside Jack's head, over his heart. "Gold," he admits, and he would shake if he weren't so terrified. He's never told another soul, the only ones to know his mother, father, and Rhiannon. Not even Lisa knew what kind of heart he hid.

"Not iron, Jack. My heart is gold."

There is a moment of silence, of stillness, and Ianto has never heard anything quite so loud.

And then Jack smiles, just a little, and his blue eyes are warm.

"Of course," he says, and it's so gently fond that Ianto could weep. "There's nothing else it could be." He presses another careful kiss to the skin over Ianto's heart and then slides up to kiss Ianto's mouth. Ianto answers him desperately, fervently, because he's spoken his secret and Jack _accepted_ it without any comment at all.

_Thank you_, he wants to say. _Thank you_. But his mouth is otherwise occupied and Jack is no closer to losing interest than he was an hour ago. If the greedy, gliding strokes of his hands are anything to go by, the interest has only increased. Ianto answers it fully, sliding his hands up the satiny skin and firm muscles of Jack's back, pulling him closercloser_closer_ because Jack is the one thing that Ianto will never, _ever_ be able to get enough of.

Silver and gold, he thinks, and laughs into the kiss.


End file.
